


What It Takes

by incogneat_oh



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Profanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 15:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10221788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incogneat_oh/pseuds/incogneat_oh
Summary: And the Red Hood says, “Okay, geniuses. I'ma run through your, ah, list of offences. Then we can decide on a fair punishment, hmm?”Neither man responds, though the first presses his eyes shut tighter. Maggot nods furiously, eyes darting between the Red Hood’s face and the floor in front of him.AKA: why it's a bad idea to mess with a Robin when the Red Hood is around.





	

–

The Red Hood paces, boots heavy on the thin wooden floor. He switches his pistol between his hands, runs a tongue over his teeth. The vigilante looks relaxed, almost. Grim but calm. The red domino over his eyes is smooth and unwrinkled. He is, more or less, at peace.  
  
The two men, bound on their knees nearby, flinch when he turns the eerie white eyes of the mask onto them. When he speaks, it’s slow. Soft-spoken, but echoes loudly in the empty factory.  
  
“Whenever you want to apologise.”  
  
And the men glance at one another, start speaking at once. “Red Hood–”  
  
“–we didn't–”  
  
“–so sorry–”  
  
“– _please_ –”  
  
“That’s enough,” coldly. “I wonder, d'you assholes even know what you’re s'posed to be sorry for?”  
  
“We ain’t mean nothin’, Red Hood,” one pleads, through the blood in his mouth. “We had no idea this’s your turf. Please–”  
  
The other, slightly smaller, barely out of his teens, flinches away when the Red Hood points at him with his gun.  
  
“Got any better guesses, maggot?”  
  
The man– boy– tries to wipe his sweaty face on the shoulder of his shirt. Makes a sound like a sob. “We din’t do nuffin,” he says, petulant and terrified. “We was just mindin our own business, d-doin’ a deal, and then we hadda deal with th-that little shit–”  
  
And the gun goes off.  
  
The round splinters into the wall, loud and unexpected. Bits of plaster rain down across the floor.  
  
The air smells like gunpowder. And urine.  
  
“Shut your fucking mouth,” the Red Hood snarls, now.   
  
The older one sits, mouth hanging open. Eyes scrunched shut, blood trickling over his lip. And Maggot is curled into himself, sobbing over his soiled pants. Whispering,  _pleasepleaseplease_  like some sort of prayer.  
  
And the Red Hood says, “Okay, geniuses. I'ma run through your, ah,  _list of offences_. Then we can decide on a fair punishment, hmm?”  
  
Neither man responds, though the first presses his eyes shut tighter. Maggot nods furiously, eyes darting between the Red Hood’s face and the floor in front of him.  
  
Red Hood starts to pace again. He says, “You were on my turf.”  
  
And the only sound is a faint, half-smothered sob.  
  
The Hood continues, “You were trafficking drugs.”  
  
“It wasn't–” starts the big mouth, stops under the Red Hood’s gaze.   
  
There is a frozen moment, a minute of absolute silence.  
  
Then the vigilante keeps pacing. “I like to think of myself as a fairly forgiving guy,” he says, thoughtfully. “But we are moving onto my third point.  _You fucked with my family_.”  
  
“We ain’ even met your family, Hood,” Maggot says, desperately. “We didn’t do nothin’!”  
  
“Now that’s just fucking rude,” the man says calmly. “Lying to my face like that. You met my brother earlier this evening.”  
  
“Nuh-uh, you got us mistook!” Big Mouth tells him, earnest, almost relieved. “We left ‘bout eleven, only met up with the buyer. We din’t see no one else, I swear! Not 'til that little punk Robin got there–”  
  
And the Red Hood smiles, grimly.  
  
Waits.  
  
Big Mouth gets it first, the blood draining out of his face. His skin is stark white against the dried blood all down his chin.  
  
And it takes Maggot a couple minutes, but when it hits him he makes a sound like pain and starts to sob.  
  
Conversationally, “See. I’m not such a huge fan of assholes like you two fucking with my brothers. Sure, we don’t always get along. But I kind of figure, giving 'em shit is  _my_  job, y'know?”  
  
He moves forward, slow as molasses. A large boot nudging Big Mouth’s knee. Says, “I am going to make you pay.”  
  
Big Mouth is breathing shallowly, bloodied teeth gritted. He says pleadingly “Hood, we didn’t know–”  
  
“He’s eleven, you prick,” the Red Hood tells him. “You like beating up kids, huh? You think that’s okay?”  
  
There’s a rustle as Maggot tries to shift away, tries to leave while he’s distracted–  
  
And the Red Hood doesn’t even look up, just raises his gun to Maggot’s face. “I’m not an unreasonable person. Why don’t we vote on a fair punishment?”  
  
Big Mouth is paralysed, staring into the whited out lenses of the domino. Maggot, meanwhile, tries to shrink away from the gun, tears and snot leaking unchecked down his grimy face. (The Red Hood takes this as agreement.)  
  
He takes a step back, taps his chin contemplatively with the gun. He says, “Who thinks you pricks have suffered enough?”  
  
And Maggot and Big Mouth glance at each other, terrified. Big Mouth  starts, “Y-yeah, Hood–”  
  
The vigilante cracks him across the face with the butt of the gun, sends him sprawling to the floor. Says, “Wrong fucking answer.” He turns to Maggot, now, who’s limp with terror, eyes wide and liquid. Says, “Where should I make hurt first?”   
  
As the man slowly raises the gun, aiming for Maggot’s kneecap, there’s a loud crackle of static.  
  
The Red Hood sticks a hand up to his left ear, fiddling with a tiny dial. He hears, “Hood? Come in, Red Hood. Do you copy?”  
  
He says, “I read you, Little Red. What? I’m kind of in the middle of something, here.”  
  
“Looks like Robin’s going to be okay,” the earpiece stutters. “Prelims say he’s got a concussion, and his arm is broken in a few places. Nightwing’s just about got them home.”  
  
The Red Hood exhales, sharply. He keeps his voice neutral when he says, “Oh yeah?”  
  
“Not bad for a run in with some baseball bats,” Red Robin says, torn between admiring and grim. “…He’s a tough little brat, but it’s lucky you found him when you did.”  
  
“No argument,” the Red Hood says, after a moment. And he pauses, says, “I’ve got a couple things to wrap up here. Thanks for the update, Red.”  
  
He turns off the comm, focussing back on his audience. Says, “Where were we?”  
  
He reaches under his jacket, coming up with a knife. And Maggot whimpers, loudly.  
  
The Red Hood ducks behind his two captives, ignoring their flinches and raises the knife–  
  
He cuts through Big Mouth’s zip-ties, first. Then Maggot’s. “It’s your lucky day, assholes. Consider this your first and only warning.”  
  
Big Mouth staggers warily to his feet, assisted by the terrified Maggot.   
  
The Red Hood smiles sweetly, shows his teeth. He rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, like some perverse parody of childish excitement, says, “What’s the lesson, here, gentlemen?”  
  
“Nuh-” Big Mouth starts, spitting out a tooth. “Never mu-mess wi’ your… fuh-family?”  
  
“Tell your friends,” the Hood says cheerfully. Then, “You may go.”  
  
The criminals can’t believe their goddamn luck, start stumbling towards the exit. “Oh!” the Red Hood slaps his forehead. “Almost forgot!”   
  
An afterthought, he raises the gun, squeezing the trigger.  
  
Maggot screams, hitting the floor with a thud.   
  
“That’s for the kid, you stupid shit,” the Red Hood snarls, setting the piece back into its holster. “Be thankful it’s a fucking shoulder shot. The next time I see your faces after dark you will not be so fortunate.”   
  
Jason leaves through the back. He mounts his bike, sliding on his helmet.   
  
Maybe he’ll go back home tonight… check on the kid.   
  
Maybe.  
  
 **-END-**

**Author's Note:**

> Also on [tumblr.](http://incogneat-oh.tumblr.com/post/24480515387/what-it-takes)


End file.
